Straddling the Line. Sarah M. Anderson

you still think I’m going to let a bunch of corrupt bankers take my money on a rigged crapshoot?” He slammed his fist into the desk, sending papers flying in all directions. “Hell, no. That’s no respectable way to run a business. We do things the right way around here, or we don’t do them at all, so stop asking me!”

      “I know how to keep our money safe,” Ben protested, trying to keep his tone professional. “Look at how well my investments have done. Bobby and Billy let me manage their investments, too—and we’re all doing really well.” Which was sort of an understatement—Ben knew not to get sucked into the next big thing, and he avoided the panic that had sunk the economy a few years back.

      “We’re in the black. The business is doing fine.” Dad didn’t so much say it as growl it. “We don’t need any of that—” he waved his hands around “—money hocus pocus, or whatever you call it.”

      Ben refused to let his father’s derogatory attitude get to him today. “It’s called investing.” He bit back the smart-ass “Everyone’s doing it.” Smart-ass never worked on Bruce Bolton. “The business is fine only because Billy, Bobby and I floated the company money to pay for this building.”

      “Your money? Ha! You wouldn’t have any money if it weren’t for your brothers. They do things. What do you do? Add, subtract. Mess around with numbers. I could get a fifth-grader to do your job. Your money …” Dad’s voice trailed off in a chuckle. “My money is real. I can go to a bank and get cold, hard cash. Where is your money, huh? You can’t even say it’s on paper—it’s all zeros and ones floating out there.” He waved his had toward his computer.

      Ben sat there, his face burning. He was so tired of this fight. No matter what he did—including paying for this fancy building—he couldn’t get the old man to look at him with the same respect he gave Ben’s brothers. “Look, if we at least investigated the possibility of bringing on some investors, besides us three boys, then we’d be able to—”

      “That’s enough! This is my business, boy, a fact you don’t seem to remember. I’m not gonna tell you again. I make the decisions around here.” Dad eyed him. “And if you have too much trouble remembering that, well …”

      The threat was implicit. If Ben didn’t toe the family line, he’d be replaced by a fifth-grader. Except, of course, that Dad would immediately discover how wrong he was. The temptation to quit and let the old man flounder was strong. Today, it was stronger than most days.

      However, the moment he considered such a move, he heard his mother’s voice in his ear as she lay on her deathbed. “Keep the family together, Ben. You’re the only one who can.”

      His mother’s voice had been weak, but he’d still felt the steel behind the order. His mother had been the only one who could keep the four Bolton men from killing each other, and Ben had promised that he wouldn’t let her down.

      So this was him not letting Mom down.

      “I know who’s in charge around here,” he grumbled to Dad. He’d keep the company in the black—barely, but still black—the hard way. It was the only way to keep the family together. It was the only way to honor his mother.

      He went back to his office and closed the door, shutting out the shop noise. This was the one room in the building where it was quiet enough to think. Ben sat with his head in his hands, wondering how much longer he could keep the business afloat and the family in one piece. Every quarter it got that much harder.

      Then the corner of the brochure for the Pine Ridge Charter School caught his eye, and Ben’s thoughts turned from stemming the hopeless Bolton tide to one Josette White Plume.

      In the four days since Josey White Plume had kissed him and then disappeared, he’d found himself staring at the brochure on more than one occasion. He’d even checked out the website. Josey’s name had been listed, but it hadn’t seemed right to email [email protected] about no-strings-attached sex.

      But if he had some tools to give her, well, that would be a different story. A perfectly aboveboard reason to make contact, to see if that heat was still there, if strings were still unattached. To see if she’d been level with him about coming for the music.

      The problem with that plan was that Dad would never let the company donate tools. Hell, some of those machines down there were as old as Ben was.

      Just when things didn’t seem like they could get any bleaker, Ben’s office door swung open.

      “Ben! My man!” Bobby barged into Ben’s office.